For the Love of Quidditch
by She's a Star
Summary: Oliver Wood figures the Keeper position on the Puddlemere United team is as good as his, but this all changes when an old friend of his sister's shows up. *FINAL CHAPTER uploaded!*
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling :)  
  
A/N: My friend Rachel has a freaky obsession with Sean Biggerstaff/Oliver Wood, so this fic is for her :) Enjoy, Rach!  
  
Also, I posted this before and realized I'd spelled Puddlemere wrong...I was reading over GoF, and when Oliver came in saying he'd been accepted as a reserve, I realized my *teeeny little* mistake...I feel so stupid! Oh well...sorry :D It's corrected now. :) So enjoy, dear readers! (And hopefully reviewers....)  
  
*Chapter One*  
  
  
"All right, team, hit the showers!" Evan Hughes, the Puddlemere United reserve  
team coach shouted. "Bloody brilliant practice today, keep it up!"  
Nineteen year old Oliver Wood ran a hand through his damp brown hair and  
wiped his brow with the navy blue sleeve of his robes. The team had been working extra  
hard the last week, and while it was exhausting, Oliver still loved it. Quidditch gave him  
a rush that nothing else could. His older sister, Callen, who he shared a flat with, had  
been bugging him constantly about working so hard. "Oliver!" she said at least five times  
an hour. "Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't simply died from exhaustion yet! I don't  
think you should be working this hard! You ARE only on the reserve team, remember.  
It's not as if you're going to be playing any games anytime soon."  
Oliver didn't let this stop him, though. The Keeper for Puddlemere United, Caleb  
McDermott, was rather old to be playing Quidditch, and he had started to develop severe  
arthritis in his fingers. In fact, games kept being called off on account of him falling from  
his broom and breaking a bone.   
The Keeper position would be his soon enough, he was sure of it.  
After a quick shower, he Apparated home to find Callen sitting at the kitchen  
table. Her dark brown curls were pulled back in a messy ponytail, and her wire-rimmed  
glasses were slipping down her nose as she read the piece of parchment in her hands.  
"What is it?" Oliver asked curiously, walking over to where his sister sat.  
"Oh...nothing you'll find interesting," Callen said, a teasing note in her voice. "It's  
not as if it's about Quidditch or a certain retiring Keeper or-"  
Oliver interrupted her by screaming out a joyous "YES!", scooping his sister up  
from where she sat, and spinning her around the kitchen.  
"Oliver!" she shrieked laughingly, "Put me DOWN!"  
"Sorry," he apologized quickly, letting go of his sister. She pushed up her glasses,  
straightened her hair, and smiled at him.  
"I have to admit, I'm proud of you, Oli," she said. "I never thought it'd happen."  
"Of course it would," Oliver grinned. "And don't call me that."  
"Call you what, Oli?"  
Normally, Oliver would have snapped at her, but at the moment he was too  
overjoyed to even feel the slightest bit angry at his sister. He picked up the letter from the  
table and read it. Sure enough, it read:  
"Caleb McDermott, Puddlemere United Keeper for the last thirty years, has been  
forced to retire due to a bad case of arthritis. You and two other Quidditch players are the  
final three players we'd like to have the position. Please come to the Puddlemere Field  
tomorrow at noon so we can observe you and decide who is best for the position.  
Thank you,  
Bryan Schafer  
Puddlemere United Captain"  
  
"Wow..." Oliver whispered. "I hope I get it..."  
"Of course you will, Oli," Callen grinned. "You're the best and you know it, so  
you might as well drop this modesty act."  
"All right," Oliver smiled. "I'm brilliant. I'm GOING to get this."  
"Of course you are," Callen said. "You know there's no one better."  
  
~*~  
  
The next morning, Oliver woke up smiling after eight hours of dreaming of  
soaring through the sky, leading Puddlemere United to victory.  
He eyed his alarm clock to discover that it was seven thirty-two. Oliver had  
always been an early riser...his sister, on the other hand, refused to get out of bed before  
eleven. He still had a bruise from the last time he'd tried to wake her at nine, so he'd  
given up on that.  
Still, he was almost positive that he heard someone awake in the kitchen. He  
climbed out of bed, careful not to step on his sister's Kneazle, Athena, who had grown  
accustom to sleeping next to his bed each night.   
As he stepped into the hall, he was certain someone was up-he could hear a  
female voice humming as she walked around the kitchen. He could smell coffee brewing  
(his sister insisted that it tasted better when prepared the Muggle way, so they had a  
coffee pot instead of making it magically).  
"Callen?" he asked, his voice a bit raspy since he'd just woken. "Is that you?"  
However, as he stepped into the kitchen, he discovered that it wasn't. Though the  
girl's back was turned to him, it was obvious it wasn't his sister-her hair was straight,  
went down to her waist, and was a shimmering shade of gold...not blonde, the hair color  
the word gold was often used to describe, but true gold.  
"This other team don't stand a chance, that fact is crystal clear, so beat back those  
Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here!" the girl sang in a confident, crystal clear  
voice.  
"Um..." Oliver said weakly. The girl still didn't notice him, and Oliver couldn't  
help looking her up and down admiringly. Her night dress was rather short, and her long,  
tanned legs were perfectly visible.  
"Excuse me..." Oliver attempted weakly. "Um...miss."  
"You know that we are gonna win, the crowd is gonna cheer, so beat back those  
Bludgers boys, and chuck that Quaffle here!" the girl sang loudly as if she were  
performing in a musical, outstretching her arms and shaking her hips slightly.  
"Miss?! Miss!" Oliver exclaimed loudly.  
The girl gasped and spun around, her hand at her heart.   
"Who are you?!" she asked nervously.  
"Oliver Wood," Oliver replied. "Who are...you?"  
The girl didn't reply to his question. Instead she looked him over and smirked  
openly. Oliver, suddenly feeling very self conscious and realizing that all he had on was a  
pair of boxers, blushed and looked down at the floor.  
"Oh, Oliver," she said. Her voice was almost irritatingly confident. "Callen's told  
me about you. I thought you were younger."  
"Um...well...I'm not," he said weakly.   
"Obviously," she smirked.   
"Erm...right," Oliver continued. "Uh...not to be rude or anything, but who are you  
and...why are you standing in my kitchen in your pajamas?"  
"Oh," she said with a smile. "I'm one of Callen's friends...Rachel Knight."  
"You...um...oh," he said intelligently. "Why are you in our kitchen?"  
"I'm staying here a while," Rachel replied.   
Oliver looked around the kitchen to discover that she'd already very much made  
herself at home. Magazines and books that hadn't been there before were strewn across  
the kitchen counter, and a pair of jeans hung on the back of one chair, a sweatshirt on  
another. Oliver was glad his sister was still sleeping. . .if she saw the mess, she would  
probably pass out.  
"You two weren't friends at Hogwarts, were you?" Oliver asked, then gave  
himself a mental pat on the back for stringing together a somewhat coherent sentence. "I  
don't remember ever meeting you."  
He wanted to add that he definitely would have remembered if he had, but  
thought that would be a bit straight forward.  
"No, we were penpals, I went to Beauxbatons," Rachel said, flipping her hair over  
her shoulder. The light from the window danced upon her mane, and Oliver found  
himself not wanting to look away.  
"Oh...so..." Oliver, feeling incredibly stupid, nervously tried to think of  
something-anything!- to say.  
"So..." Rachel repeated, amused.  
"Um...when did you graduate from Beauxbatons?"  
"Last year," Rachel said airily. Oliver would have been annoyed by her if she  
wasn't so...nice to look at. She never seemed the least bit unconfident.  
Probably because she's not GAWKING over me, he told himself.  
"And you?" Rachel asked.  
"Um....." Oliver tried desperately to remember when he graduated, "Oh yeah, two  
years ago."  
"Took you a while there, huh, buddy?" Rachel smirked.  
"I'm...tired," Oliver said lamely.  
"Really," Rachel said with a nod, "Thanks for clearing that up for me, I never  
would have noticed."  
Feeling VERY stupid, Oliver mumbled, "I'll just pour myself a cup of coffee,  
shall I?"   
He walked over to the Muggle coffee pot and conjured a mug out of thin air,  
which fell to the ground and shattered.  
"Damn!" he said under his breath, and Rachel let out a short laugh.  
"Smooth," she praised him sarcastically. She picked up a wand off of the  
magazine-covered counter, then conjured her own mug (which was a brilliant shade of  
hot pink) and handed it to him with a smirk. He accepted the mug, his cheeks turning the  
same shade as it, and walked out of the room, completely forgetting to pour himself some  
coffee.  
"Well, that went well," he muttered to himself. "I'm sure she's simply smitten with  
me. I'll-"  
Suddenly, he heard Athena let out a terrible yowl, and he realized that his feet  
weren't on the ground anymore...without being able to even try to prevent the fall, he felt  
his head slam against the floor and saw only black.  
  
~*~  
  
"Oli!"   
Oliver groaned, not bothering to open his eyes. The throbbing in his head was too  
much to bear, and he rather wished he could just pass out again. . .it was much more  
comfortable.  
"Oh, Oli, what HAPPENED?"  
He moaned again.  
"Oli...Oli, say something! Oli!"  
With much difficulty, Oliver forced himself to open his eyes. Three of his sister,  
her unruly curls falling in his face, were staring down at him in concern.   
"How many fingers am I holding up?" all three Callens asked, panicked.  
"Nine," he muttered.  
"Oli!"  
"Leemee alone," he muttered.  
"Oh, get up, you twit," she exclaimed. "You're SCARING me...you aren't hurt that  
badly are you, because you're supposed to be at the Quidditch field in four hours."  
The three Callens immediately all joined to become one, and Oliver sat up.  
"Four hours?!" Oliver asked weakly, knowing very well that he couldn't fly with  
the horrible pains in his head.  
"Four," Callen confirmed. Another Callen seemed to lean out from behind her,  
threatening to double Oliver's vision.  
"Oh, go away," he muttered to the second Callen.  
"What?!" Callen asked, offended.  
"Nothing...I was talking to the other Callen," he said stupidly.  
"The other Callen?!" Callen exclaimed incredulously. "That's it, I'm calling a  
doctor."  
Normally Oliver would have argued (he hated doctors), but he HAD to be able to  
try out for Quidditch! He NEEDED that position!  
Callen rushed out of the hall, muttering under her breath.  
"Cal, what happened?" Oliver heard Rachel ask.  
"Oh, poor Oli tripped over Athena and hit his head," Callen explained worriedly.  
Oh no, Oliver thought. Oli!? I cannot believe she told Rachel that....of all people...  
"Oli, huh?" Oliver could practically HEAR Rachel smirking.  
"Pet name," Callen said quickly. "Could you go check on him while I call the  
doctor? Make sure he's still conscious."  
"All right," Rachel said.   
Oliver groaned to himself as Rachel's slender form appeared in the hallway,  
sauntering slowly towards him.  
"So, Oli got a booboo?" she said in an overly sympathetic, high-pitched voice.  
"Shut up," Oliver mumbled.  
"Now, now, now," Rachel chided with her signature smirk. "That's not the way to  
treat a lady."  
"Well, I'm sorry," Oliver snapped crossly. "I'm sure I'd be much more courteous if  
I wasn't about to pass out."  
"I'm not so sure about that," Rachel said, raising an eyebrow in amusement.   
"Do you EVER shut up?" Oliver muttered.   
"Oooh, not nice, Oli," Rachel said, her smirk returning. "You could really break  
some hearts talking like that."  
"I'm sure."  
"Well, much as I adore these little moments and all, I have to go," Rachel said  
airily. "I've got Quidditch tryouts at noon."  
"Uh huh," Oliver groaned, then sat up abruptly when her words registered in his  
mind. "What?! Quidditch tryouts?!"  
"Yes, Quidditch tryouts," Rachel repeated slowly, as if she was talking to a three  
year old. "For the Puddlemere United Keeper...so see you, Oli."  
As she sauntered into the bathroom, Oliver moaned again. If Rachel was as good  
at Quidditch as she was at making annoyingly witty little comments, he had some  
competition.  
Some MAJOR competition. 


	2. Chapter Two

*Chapter Two*  
  
"...so beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here!" Rachel sang  
under her breath, then groaned. How one song could be so annoyingly catchy? She  
nervously rocked back and forth, alternately placing all her weight on her right foot, then  
left. This Oliver Wood was a hell of a good Keeper, she'd give him that. As the Quidditch  
officials chucked Quaffles at him, he never let a single one enter the goal posts, and even  
flew perfectly.  
That boy had talent.  
"But I can do just as good," she murmured to herself. "No...I can do BETTER."  
Well....maybe.  
"No, definitely," she said aloud. The other person trying out, a burly man in his  
forties, looked curiously at her. She gave him a sickeningly sweet smile, then scowled  
and stared at her shoes.   
Great, Knight, now you're holding conversations with yourself, she thought  
bitterly. You can get this position. You just HAVE to do your VERY best.  
"All right, Wood, we've seen enough," Bryan Schafer said, grinning broadly.  
Oliver came back down and got off his broom, and Schafer patted him on the back.  
"Excellent work, son. Excellent."  
"Thank you, Mr. Schafer," Oliver said with a charming smile. Rachel couldn't  
help smiling as well...he was cute, too.  
Very cute.  
"All right...Mr. Haliwell," Schafer said. The forty-something guy who had  
witnessed her fight with herself walked over, and Oliver came to stand next to Rachel.  
"So..." Oliver said.  
"So..." Rachel repeated, putting her hands on her hips.  
He looked at her expectantly.  
"If you think I'm going to compliment you, Wood, you're wrong on a million  
different levels," Rachel said, smirking at him.   
"Well, ex-cu-se me," Oliver said, dragging out the syllables. "I am so sorry to have  
ever expected a compliment from someone of your high status, Queen Rachel."  
"I MIGHT be able to forgive you," Rachel said nonchalantly, then smiled as  
Haliwell allowed two Quaffles to enter the goal posts in a row.  
"He's out," she murmured.  
"Unless you do worse," Oliver reminded her with a cocky grin.  
"As if," she shot back.  
"Nice comeback," Oliver said sarcastically.  
"Why are you being so sassy, Mr. Wood?" Rachel asked, immediately changing  
her annoyed expression to one of complete and total innocence. "Don't you know how to  
treat a lady?"  
Oliver rolled his eyes at her and then fixed his eyes back on Haliwell.  
Since when is HE so sarcastic? Rachel thought. That's MY department...he's  
supposed to gawk at the perfect body and shimmering hair so I can make him feel like a  
complete idiot.  
At first, he'd been under her spell, no problem, but now he seemed to have fallen  
out of it. It was like flying gave him some sort of intolerable confidence, and he no  
longer lost the ability to speak coherently when around her.  
Well, Oliver, she thought, glancing at him. This ought to be interesting...  
  
~*~  
  
"Oli! How did it go?!" Callen exclaimed, jumping up from the easy chair where  
she was reading as soon as he Apparated into their living room. "You got it, didn't you?  
Oh, of course you did..."  
"I don't know," Oliver said, patting Callen lightly on the back as she threw her  
arms around him. "Rachel was just as good as I was...maybe better."  
"Rachel?! Rachel Knight Rachel?" Callen asked, confused.  
"That's the one," Oliver said a bit bitterly. That position had been his, HIS! Why  
had Rachel had to show up?? Haliwell had been no match against him...he'd have it now  
if it wasn't for her.  
"Oh goodness...yes, she was quite the Quidditch player, from what she told me in  
her letters," Callen said, looking uncomfortable.  
"Well, if you want to, go right ahead and hope she gets it," Oliver said bitterly. He  
knew he was being childish, but at the moment he really didn't care. The Keeper position  
was EVERYTHING to him, and now there was only a fifty percent chance that he'd get  
it.   
"Oh, Oli, you know I want you to get it," Callen said, smiling at him. "There's no  
one I'd want to be a famous Quidditch player more than my baby brother." She hugged  
him again. "I know you'll get it-you're the best Keeper in the world."  
Normally, Oliver would have listed all the popular pro Keepers and scolded his  
sister for her lack of Quidditch knowledge, but instead he just forced a smile and hugged  
her back.  
After all, he COULD get it.  
Maybe.  
Hopefully.  
And if he didn't, it wasn't the end of the world...  
Well....  
Yes it was.  
Perhaps he could attempt to drown himself in the shower again.  
  
~*~  
  
"Hey, Cal," Rachel sang out as she Apparated into the living room, then dropped  
the six-pack of butterbeer she'd just purchased onto the couch.   
"Want one?" she asked, taking one for herself.  
Callen shook her head, and Rachel shrugged, then opened her own and took a sip.   
"Not very talkative," Rachel commented as she picked up an old issue of Witch  
Weekly from the coffee table and began to flip through it.  
"Sorry," Callen said softly.  
"It's not a crime."  
Callen was silent again for a moment.  
"Callen, what is it?" Rachel finally asked.  
"It's...Oliver," Callen finally said.  
"Dear old Oli? What about 'im?"  
"And you...and Puddlemere United."  
"Ahhh, I see," Rachel said. "I'm kind of worried about that...neither of us let any  
Quaffles through the goal posts, and so I really have no clue who's gonna get it."  
"Yeah, that's it," Callen said. "Oliver tends to get very...obsessive."  
"Oh?" Rachel asked, amused.  
Callen laughed. "When it comes to Quidditch, oh yeah. He's TOTALLY  
obsessed...he was made captain in his third year for the Gryffindor house team at  
Hogwarts, and they actually won the cup-Harry Potter was on his team, I swear he was  
his pride and joy. Quidditch and how Harry Potter was his Seeker was all he spoke of at  
holidays. And since he graduated and got accepted as a reserve for Puddlemere United,  
that's been everything. And he wants this Keeper position SO badly..."  
"Well, if I get it, he's just going to have to deal," Rachel said, shrugging. "He's a  
big boy, I'm sure he'll survive."  
"Well, the thing is I don't know about that," Callen said, biting her lip nervously.  
"When they lost a match in his seventh year, one of his friends told me he tried to drown  
himself in the showers..."  
"Whoa," Rachel said, laughing shortly. "Now, that's just a bit TOO obsessive."  
"Tell me about it," Callen sighed. "But that's just the way Oliver is. And...I was  
wondering if you could...for me...just maybe..."  
"Drop it?" Rachel asked shortly.  
"Yes," Callen said, her tone full of relief. "Oh, thank you, Rach-"  
"Forget it," Rachel said flatly. "I've wanted to play pro Quidditch for a while now,  
and I'm not gonna give up my chance just because your baby brother's lifelong hopes and  
dreams may be crushed."  
Behind her glasses, Callen's eyes lit up in anger.  
"Fine," she said, then stood up and stomped out of the living room, but not before  
taking one of the butterbeers.  
Rachel felt her heart drop, then began to lecture herself.  
"Ugh, I'm NOT going to feel bad about this...it's not my fault that her somewhat  
attractive brother's life might be ruined if I get this position. It's just some twisted  
working of fate, and I'm not going to let it ruin my career."  
"Just SOMEWHAT attractive?" an oh-too-familiar male voice asked behind her,  
full of amusement.  
Damn! Rachel thought fiercely, clenching her hands into fists so tightly that her  
fingernails dug into her skin.  
"I prefer devilishly good looking...AND single," Oliver said, coming over and  
sitting down on the sofa next to her.  
"Don't try your lame pick-up lines on me," Rachel advised. "I may not be able to  
resist the urge to-"  
"Kiss me passionately?" Oliver asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.  
"-Punch you," Rachel finished crossly.  
"I was close," Oliver said, grinning.  
"Why so cheerful?" Rachel asked. "From what I heard from your sister, you're  
seriously considering suicide at the moment."  
"Nah," Oliver said brightly. "I just...realized something that brightened my mood  
a lot."  
"And that is...?"  
"I-"  
"PLEASE don't let the next words out of your mouth be 'love' and 'you'," Rachel  
said dryly.  
"Don't worry," Oliver said. "I just remembered that all Puddlemere United players  
happen to be men."  
"So?"  
"So they would most likely accept a male player over a female, and the other  
male was awful," Oliver said, grinning. "And that leaves...who was it again? Oh yes-me!"  
"You are SO annoying," Rachel scowled. "And you don't KNOW that they won't  
accept a woman. I mean, it's about time to change if they have some sexist rule like that."  
"Maybe," Oliver said, still smiling so wide that it was downright frightening.  
Rachel currently wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face at the  
moment-maybe that'd wipe the smile off. "Ooh, butterbeer."  
He took one of them, opened it, and took a long swig.  
"Did I SAY you could take that?" Rachel asked. "Honestly, Oli, you need to work  
on some manners."  
Oliver ignored her and held up his butterbeer. "To the future Keeper for  
Puddlemere United."  
Rachel clinked her bottle to his. "Cheers...may the best WOman win."  
  
~*~  
  
Try as he might, Oliver couldn't wipe the giddy smile from his face for the rest of  
the day. He was going to get that position, he was sure of it! Puddlemere United had  
never had a female player...it was unheard of, practically a sin! Rachel would never get  
the position, no matter how good she was.  
I hope she's not too brokenhearted, he thought happily as he stared out his  
bedroom window. The sun was just setting, painting brilliant oranges and reds across the  
sky, and he suddenly had the urge to grab his Nimbus 2001 and take a quick ride before  
he went to sleep.  
The perfect way to end the perfect day, he thought as he put on a flannel  
long-sleeved shirt over his gray T-shirt, grabbed his broom from the corner where he kept  
it, and walked down the stairs and out the door. He took a deep breath of the slightly  
brisk air, then got on his broom and pushed off. Up he soared, the wind blowing across  
his face and through his hair.   
This, he thought happily, Is the life.  
The wind seemed to be almost singing to him, softly and sweetly. Oliver closed  
his eyes to listen, then realized that the song had actual words-it definitely wasn't the  
wind.  
Even though he'd only heard her sing once before, he recognized the voice.  
Rachel.  
"Love lifts us up where we belong," she sang, her voice growing more loud and  
confident with each note. "Where eagles fly on a mountain high..."  
She really did have a gift.  
"Hey, Celestina," Oliver yelled at her where she stood about fifteen feet below.   
She looked up and gave him her signature smirk, though it seemed to be half  
smile that time.  
"Hey, Oli," she called back, smiling.   
"Beautiful singing," Oliver complimented in a stuffy voice. "Simply splendid,  
dahling."  
"Yup, I'm the next Celestina Warbeck, all right," she said with a short laugh.  
"Why don't you come join the rest of us down on solid ground?"  
"But-" Oliver began to warble horribly off-key. "Love lifts us up where we  
beeeelong!"  
Rachel winced, then said, "I told you not to say you loved me or I'd punch you."  
Oliver felt his cheeks heat up. "I...I wasn't talking about you, I-"  
"Shut up, I know," Rachel said. "Now get down here."  
"Yes, Ma'am!" he barked, then saluted and flew down to ground, still sitting on  
his broom about three feet above the ground.  
"So...whatcha doin' out here?" she asked. "Just-" she put on a dramatic tone.  
"-letting yourself become one with nature and experience the beauty that is the setting of  
the sun?"  
"Pretty much," Oliver said with a laugh.  
"Yeah," Rachel smiled. "Same here."  
A silence filled the air between them. It wasn't awkward, or distant, or  
unfriendly.  
No, it was the good ol' pre-kiss silence.  
Oliver knew how stupid it would be to kiss her-he'd only known her since that  
morning, for one thing, and they would absolutely hate each other if one of them got the  
Keeper position, for another.  
But at that moment, with the sun setting and the brilliant oranges and yellows  
dancing across Rachel's golden hair, and her staring at him expectantly, he really couldn't  
help himself.  
He pressed his lips to hers, and immediately felt...different. Content...complete,  
somehow.  
He'd kissed a few girls before, but it hadn't been like this...he didn't know it was  
even supposed to be like this.  
Bliss, sheer and total bliss, and then-  
"Wait a sec," Rachel pulled away from him.  
"What?" Oliver asked, wrapping his arms around her.  
"You DO realize that one of us is gonna get the Keeper position, and then we'll  
hate each other."  
"Yup."  
"And that there is about a thousandth of a chance that this will work out?"  
"Yup."  
"And that your sister is watching us right now from the window?"  
"Yup."  
Rachel smiled. "All right, then," she said, and leaned back in to kiss him again.  
  
  
~*~  
  
Disclaimer: Everything HP related that you recognize belongs to the wonderful JK Rowling. The song 'Up Where We Belong' belongs to...well, I don't know, but it isn't mine. And the "devilishly good-looking and single" thing belongs to Sean Biggerstaff, which he said about himself in an interview. :)  
  
A/N: A bit fluffy, I agree, and it normally would seem OOC, but Oliver never really had a character in the books except for being Quidditch-obsessed, and Rachel's MY character! So *ha!* :) teehee :) Okey doke, wonderful readers, you know what your job is now...REVIEW! :D You guys are the best. 


	3. Chapter Three

*Chapter Three*  
  
Rachel smiled as she ran a brush through her hair later that night. Oliver and  
herself had just finished having a cup of tea, and she'd come up to bed. He really was fun  
to talk to.   
Wasn't a bad kisser either.  
Not bad at all.  
It was a shame one of them would absolutely loathe the other when Puddlemere  
United got back to them.   
"Ninety eight...ninety nine...one hundred."  
Normally, she wouldn't bother with the one-hundred-strokes-a-night thing, but she  
had nothing better to do. She'd also been attempting to get her mind off Oliver, but it  
wasn't really working.   
It wasn't as though it was actually a real relationship, or as if he was anything  
special. It was just that he seemed to have a boyish glow to him that was oddly  
refreshing. None of her previous boyfriends had been like that-they'd all been serious,  
sarcastic. Too much like herself.  
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.   
"Come in," she called, hoping that a certain Quidditch obsessed, devilishly  
good-looking guy would enter.   
No such luck. Instead, Callen entered wearing a rather grim expression.  
"Hey stranger," Rachel greeted her with a bright grin.   
"What do you think you're doing?" Callen asked coolly.  
"Well...last time I checked, I was sitting in a chair talking to a girl named Callen  
who seems just the tiniest bit ticked off at the moment," Rachel said.  
"Funny," Callen snapped. "Seriously, WHAT are you doing?"  
"Must we go through this again?"  
"Don't play dumb. With OLIVER."  
"Nooothing," Rachel said innocently.  
"Oh, sure, like I'm going to believe that," Callen said sarcastically. "I saw you kiss  
him, you know."  
"So? Is it illegal or something?"  
"Well, maybe it should be when you're CLEARLY just leading him on and having  
a little fun, and then there's a great chance you're gonna take away the thing he's wanted  
FOREVER and break his heart!" Callen practically yelled, her breathing irregular and  
face reddening in anger.  
"Whoa, Cal, chill-"  
"I will not 'chill', Rachel! Why the bloody hell are you doing this?"  
"Maybe I'm not just leading him on, did you ever consider that?"  
"Oh, I'm SURE you're already planning your wedding," Callen snapped. "I READ  
the letters you sent me back when you were at school, Rachel. You had a different  
boyfriend every week! You wrote, and I quote, 'It's so fun, messing with their puny little  
minds like this.' I am NOT letting you do that to Oliver!"  
"And if I WAS messing with his mind, which I'm not saying I am, then what  
would YOU do about it?"  
"I would tell you to get the hell out of my house and don't ever come back,"  
Callen said, her voice cold as ice. "And don't EVER talk to my brother again."  
"Well, I suppose it's a good thing I'm not messing around with his mind, then,"  
Rachel said, shrugging and turning back to study her reflection in the mirror.  
"But that doesn't mean you're not going to break his heart. So I think it would be  
best if you left."  
"And go WHERE?" Rachel asked, staring at Callen in the mirror. "You KNOW  
my parents think I'm out here getting a job and making a living and becoming some  
incredibly successful young woman. I can't just go back to them, tail between legs."  
"You have other friends," Callen said coldly. She gave her one last glare, then  
turned and left the room.  
  
~*~  
  
"Is everything all right, Cal? I thought I heard yelling," Oliver said, coming out of  
his room to inspect the situation.  
"Everything's fine now," Callen replied shortly.   
"What do you mean now?" Oliver asked, suspicious.  
"Never mind," Callen said, then disappeared into her bedroom.  
"Rachel," Oliver muttered under his breath, then immediately went over to the  
guest room and swung open the door. Sure enough, it was empty.  
"God, Callen, what did you do?" Oliver shouted. "Where is she?"  
"NOTHING," Callen yelled back.  
"Oh, I'm gonna believe that," Oliver said angrily, storming into his sister's room.  
She sat in bed, a book in her hands.   
"Yes?" she asked, looking up at him innocently.  
"What the HELL did you DO?" Oliver shouted.  
"Calm down, you're going to wake the whole neighborhood."  
"SCREW the neighborhood! What did you DO to her??"  
"It's for the best, Oli, she would have broken your heart anyway-"  
"BLOODY HELL, what did you SAY to her?"  
"Nothing, nothing," Callen said quickly, leaning back against her pillows as he  
inched menacingly closer to her. "She just...it wouldn't have worked, Oli, she goes  
through men like tissues-"  
"You can't just make this okay by trying to convince me she's some little slut or  
something!"  
"OLIVER, I never said that-"  
"You're implying it! Now WHERE is she?"  
"I'm not telling you anything," Callen said calmly, her gaze returning to her book.  
"It's for the best."  
Anger surging through his body, Oliver did the first thing that came to  
mind-pulled his wand out of his pocket.  
"WHERE...IS...SHE?" he repeated.  
Callen looked up, obviously startled. She glared at him.   
"Tell me or I'll..." Oliver made a violent gesture with his wand in the air to  
illustrate his point.  
"You WOULDN'T."  
"Are you sure about that?" Oliver asked, stepping closer.  
"You WOULDN'T."  
"Oh, wouldn't I?"  
"You WOULDN'T."  
"Okay, okay, I wouldn't," Oliver said crossly, putting his wand back into his  
pocket. "But...just tell me, please?"  
"Oli, it wouldn't work out. If one of you gets the Keeper position, it will be over.  
Either way, she'll just forget about you. You're better off without her. Get a nice girl, one  
who...I don't know, paints her fingernails pink and wears her hair in ringlets and doesn't  
swear and-"  
"I don't WANT someone like that!" Oliver exclaimed.   
"You've only known Rachel for a DAY, Oliver," Callen reminded him. "I've  
known her for six years. You don't know what she's like-"  
"I know well enough," Oliver said. "And I'm sure about this...Cal, PLEASE?"  
Callen sighed. "Oli, I don't know where she went. I just...kind of...kicked her out."  
Much as Oliver would have loved to stay and yell at his sister, he could tell from  
the expression on her face that she really couldn't deal with it. Instead, he left without a  
word and went back into the guest room. Maybe she'd left something...a note telling  
where she was going...  
Sure enough, he spotted a piece of paper on the white bedspread. He picked it up  
and read:  
  
Hi Oli,  
Okay, it's been great and all, but Cal seems REALLY mad, and I...just don't want  
to make her any angrier. Plus, it wouldn't work anyway. I'll miss you though. You're  
something else.  
Rachel  
P.S. I'll be in Diagon Alley. Just in case.  
  
~*~  
  
It was amazing, how much could happen in a day, Rachel reflected as she stepped  
into The Leaky Cauldron. She couldn't believe that on that very morning, she'd been  
standing in Oliver's kitchen, belting out the Puddlemere United theme song. It seemed  
like another lifetime.  
"Can I get you anything?" the bartender asked her with a toothless smile as Rachel  
slid onto one of the stools.  
"Sure...something strong," Rachel replied with a moan, then put her head in her  
hands. Only SHE could truly mess up so badly in one day.   
"Comin' right up," the bartender said.  
"Great," Rachel said. Sure enough, seconds later, an acid green drink in a shot  
glass was placed in front of her. It appeared to be smoking at first glance, but when she  
blinked, it no longer was. She hoped it was just her imagination. Rachel had never been  
much of a drinker-or a drinker at all, in fact, but there was a first time for everything.   
Anything that would get her mind off of the royal mess that was her life.  
Wrinkling her nose, she picked up the glass and rose it slowly to her lips, then  
took a teeny sip. She swallowed quickly, and it left a burning sensation in her throat.  
"That strong enough for ya?" the bartender asked with another smile.  
"Yeah," Rachel barely managed to croak.   
She took another sip-it actually wasn't bad.  
"So...what in life causes you to need such a strong drink?" the bartender asked as  
he wiped off the bar with a damp cloth.  
"Long story or short?"  
"Whatever you want to tell."  
Rachel took another, this time rather large, sip, then continued to talk. "Short,  
then. Went to visit a friend, had a strange encounter with said friend's rather attractive  
brother, found out that I was trying out for the same Quidditch position as rather  
attractive brother of said friend, fell for attractive brother of said friend, got accused by  
said friend of leading on attractive brother of said friend, and got kicked out by said  
friend without being able to say goodbye to attractive brother of said friend."  
"I'm glad I didn't ask for the long version," the bartender chuckled.  
"So am I," Rachel downed the last of the drink. "Because frankly, I'm too  
exhausted to tell you."  
"Want another drink?" the bartender asked.  
"Sure," Rachel handed him the shot glass. Whatever that stuff was, she liked  
it...she felt a bit more relaxed already.  
Rachel downed the next drink in two sips, and the bartender gave her another as  
she began to give him the long story.  
"Well, you see-" hiccup! "-I always wanted-" hiccup! "-to be a singer, like the next  
Celes-" hiccup! "-tina Warbeck, you know? But my parents-" hiccup! "-don't like that  
idea very-" hiccup! "-much. My dad always-" hiccup! "-wanted me to be a-" hiccup! "-pro  
Quidditch player. So then I-" hiccup! "-Got this letter from Muddlepere United-"   
Rachel paused to take a long sip of her fourth drink and stared in confusion at the  
bartender as he laughed heartily.  
SHE didn't see anything funny about it.  
  
~*~  
  
"Where ARE you?" Oliver muttered under his breath as he exited Quality  
Quidditch Supplies. He'd already checked Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and  
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, the only two places next to Quality Quidditch  
Supplies that were left open that late at night. Both Mr. Fortescue, who had been  
straightening up and preparing to close, and Madam Malkin, who had been fitting robes  
on an older witch, hadn't seen her.  
Where IS she? he thought desperately, his gaze sweeping across Diagon Alley.  
His eyes fell upon The Leaky Cauldron. Even if she wasn't there, he could use a  
butterbeer.  
As he entered the pub, the bells on the door jingled to announce his entrance. A  
slender female figure was slumped over the bar, golden hair draped over her face and a  
glass of some sort of bright green drink in her hand.  
"Rachel," he muttered.   
The bartender, Tom, was staring at her with a mixture of amusement and concern  
as she spoke. Her words were slurred and often interrupted by hiccups.  
"And I-" hiccup! "-can't understand whyee has this affect on me, ya know?"  
hiccup! "-I have half a mind to go back there-" hiccup! "-and grab 'im and just kiss 'im, ya  
know?"  
Oliver blushed as the few other people in the pub stared at her, not hiding their  
disgust.   
"Yeah, he's a REALLY good kisser-" hiccup! "Even though I on'y kissed 'im  
like...four...no...five-" hiccup! "-times, ya know, but it was like WOW!" hiccup!  
Oliver wished that the floor would open up and swallow him whole, and he  
wanted nothing more than to just turn around and leave, but he knew he couldn't do that.  
"And more coulda happened, ya know-" hiccup! "-but then there was-" hiccup!  
"-the whole thing with his sister, which kinda sucked ya know, 'cause-" hiccup! "-he is  
REALLY-"  
"RACHEL!" Oliver shouted.   
She turned around and looked at him. It took a few seconds before her eyes lit up  
in recognition, but once she did a huge, dopey smile spread across her face.  
"Oli!" she exclaimed, holding out her arms. "C'mere!"  
"Oh Lord," Oliver muttered under his breath, but walked over and gave her a  
quick hug. Tom stared at him in amusement and gave him a wink.  
"Will you be taking her off my hands, now?"  
"Yeah," Oliver mumbled. "Sorry..."  
"It's perfectly fine, son," Tom said. "She was...interesting."  
"Can I just get a hotel room?" Oliver asked.  
Tom raised an eyebrow at him, and Oliver blushed again.  
"No, no, not like...THAT...it's not like I...NO, not at all, it's just...she needs to  
sleep, and..."  
"All right, all right," Tom said, handing him a key. "Room 13 is open."  
"Thank you," Oliver said, then attempted to pull away Rachel, who was still  
holding onto him for dear life. She didn't resist-instead, she finished off the drink on the  
counter.  
"This-" hiccup! "-stuff is great-" hiccup! "-you should try-" hiccup! "-some, Oli!"  
"No thanks," Oliver said. "Now, we're going to walk upstairs, okay? Do you think  
you can get that far?"  
"Of course! I can-" hiccup! "-walk fine," Rachel said, standing up and  
immediately stumbling forward. Oliver put out his arms and caught her before she fell  
and cracked her head open on the floor.  
Though perhaps it would sober her up a bit if she did so.  
"Sorry, sorry, I can walk," Rachel said, then hiccuped.   
"Maybe I should help-"  
"I CAN WALK!" Rachel screamed at the top of her lungs.  
"All right, then," Oliver said meekly, staring at the floor. He looked up as Rachel  
took a few steps forward and walked directly into a chair. She flipped over it and landed  
on the floor.  
"You're not walking," Oliver announced.   
"But I can-"  
"No you CAN'T," Oliver said firmly. He then proceeded to pick her up in his  
arms, Prince-Charming and Cinderella-style. Only Prince Charming had had it  
easy-Cinderella hadn't been completely and totally drunk.  
"This is so-" hiccup! "-romantic!" Rachel said with a high, shrill giggle that  
seemed wrong to be coming out of her, of all people's mouths.  
"Yeah, it's wonderful," Oliver said dryly. He could hear the people in the pub  
chuckling merrily as Oliver climbed the rickety stairs up to the hotel rooms.  
When he finally reached theirs, which was oh-so-conveniently located at the end  
of the hall, he felt as if he'd just attended an all-day Quidditch practice. He fumbled to  
unlock the door, then practically ran in and dropped Rachel onto the bed. She giggled  
again with a totally-the-opposite-of-herself "Whee!"  
"Whee," Oliver echoed sarcastically, sitting down on the foot of the bed trying to  
catch his breath.   
"You know, Oli," Rachel said in a sing-songy voice. "I-" hiccup! "-never felt the  
way about a-" hiccup! "-guy that I do-" hiccup! "-about you. And I've only-" hiccup!  
"-known you for, like, a day! Isn't that-" hiccup! "-crazy?"  
"It's crazy all right," Oliver said, knowing better than to believe any of her words.  
He'd never seen anyone this horribly drunk-it even beat the time when Callen went way  
overboard on the wine at their uncle's wedding a few years back. And she had been  
DRUNK.  
"You know-" hiccup! "-what, Oli?"  
"What?" Oliver asked.  
"I think-" hiccup! "-I love-" hiccup! "-you."  
"Hey, whatever happened to if you say I love you I'll punch you?" Oliver asked,  
forcing a smile.   
"Huh?" Rachel asked, dazed.  
"Oh, never mind," Oliver said. "It's just that...I shouldn't even be listening to you,  
because tomorrow morning you're going to be back to normal, and you're going to regret  
that you ever said anything. So maybe it would be better if you just shut up. No offense or  
anything."  
Rachel, however, ignored his words and began to sing. Her voice was still perfect,  
even in her wasted state, though she hiccuped every once in a while.  
"If I should stay, I would only be in the way. So I'll go, but I know I'll think of you  
every step of the way..."  
Oliver couldn't help but smile as she sang to him, but he couldn't turn around. If  
he turned around, he knew he would just let himself fall completely for her, and then  
everything would be even more of a mess.  
If possible.  
"And I will always love you."  
He really wanted to turn around. To just look at her.  
"I will always love you."  
Maybe he could...just for a second, just to look at her really quickly.  
"I-"  
The springs on the bed suddenly squeaked, and he turned back to find that she'd  
collapsed. He felt his pulse quicken-what if she was in a coma?  
However, a few seconds later she began to snore.  
"Okay, she's fine," Oliver muttered to himself. He grabbed the blanket that was  
folded up at the end of the bed, shook it out, and placed it over her. As he watched her,  
he couldn't help but smile...in spite of the fact that she was snoring louder than his father  
ever had and that she smelled like she'd bathed in alcohol, she was still absolutely  
beautiful.  
He lowered his voice to a whisper.  
"'Night, Rachel."  
  
  
Disclaimer: Everything you recognize HP-wise belongs to the fabulous J.K. Rowling. "I  
Will Always Love You" belongs to...not me. Dolly Parton, I think. Don't ask how Rachel  
knows all these Muggle songs. She just...*does* :)  
  
A/N: This chapter was lotsa fun to write-thanks to Rachel (the one who this story is for)  
for the whole Rach-gets-drunk idea. :) Okey doke, wonderful people, now you can  
review! 


	4. Chapter Four

*Chapter Four*  
  
The next morning, Oliver awoke to the lovely sounds of Rachel getting sick in the bathroom.  
He smiled wryly, then stood up from the chair where he'd attempted to sleep the night before and stretched. He then went over to the bathroom door and rapped on it lightly with his knuckles, calling, "Rachel...are you all right in there?"  
"What do YOU think?" Rachel yelled back crossly, then began to gag again.  
"She's back," Oliver muttered to himself. In a louder voice, he asked, "Do you want breakfast or something?"  
"Oh yeah, Oli," Rachel called angrily. "I'm SO in the mood to eat at the moment."  
"Well, excuse me," Oliver said, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his tone. "But I wasn't the one who downed about fifty glasses of some SMOKING mystery drink last night, so I wouldn't be snapping at me."  
Rachel uttered a few words that Oliver knew he wouldn't dare say in the presence of his mother, and then the toilet flushed and the door swung open, slamming into his face.  
"Dammit, Rachel, watch where you're going!" he exclaimed, lifting a hand to his nose to make sure it wasn't broken.  
"Sorry," she replied in a tone dripping with fake sweetness. "Perhaps if you got a brain and didn't stand in front of the door, those little incidents wouldn't happen."  
Oliver groaned and took his hands away from his face, then had to hold back a gasp. THAT was Rachel? Her gold hair was stringy, greasy, and tangled, her eyes were bloodshot, and below them there were huge, dark circles.  
"Lookin' good," he couldn't help but mutter sarcastically.  
Rachel raised one of her fingers at him, and Oliver was pretty sure the gesture wasn't to show off her manicure.  
"Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," he commented.  
"I feel like the Weird Sisters are performing inside my head," Rachel replied dryly. "So don't mess with me."  
"Oooh, I'm scared-"  
"You should be," Rachel interrupted, giving him a death glare. "Now, don't mess with me."  
"All right, then," Oliver muttered, going over to the chair where he'd slept and glaring daggers at it (his back still felt stiff...) before taking his coat from where he'd hung it on the back.  
"Well, I'm going to go find something for breakfast because frankly, I'm starving," he announced, shrugging into his jacket.  
"Could you pick me up some ice cream from Florean Fortescue's?" Rachel asked as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail.  
"Why don't you just get it yourself?" Oliver retorted.  
"Yeah, I'm really going to go out in public looking like this," Rachel said sarcastically. "I'm sure the guys would be falling all over me."  
"Oh, come on," Oliver said, giving her his most charming smile. "It won't be any fun alone."  
"Perhaps you don't understand," Rachel said snappishly. "My head is throbbing, I'm seeing two of you at the moment, my stomach is doing cartwheels, and I look like a hag."  
"You don't look that bad," Oliver said truthfully. The mischievous sparkle was beginning to return to her eyes, which improved her appearance somewhat. "And the fresh air will make you feel better."  
"Oh, fine," Rachel huffed. "But give me a minute to get ready."  
"Sure," Oliver said.   
Rachel disappeared into the bathroom, and Oliver heard her mutter a few spells under her breath before emerging, her hair shimmering and silky again and face flawless.  
"Okay, let's go," Rachel said, grabbing his arm and practically dragging him out of the hotel room. As they walked through the Leaky Cauldron, Tom chuckled at Rachel.  
"Why's the toothless guy laughing at me?" Rachel asked Oliver under her breath.  
"You don't want to know," Oliver replied.  
"Fabulous," Rachel muttered dryly. "You know, I really don't know why I did that, since I am not a drinker, never was, never will be. I have no idea what happened last night or why the hell I woke up in a hotel room, but it better be rated G or I'm kicking your ass."  
"Nice language," Oliver remarked. "And don't worry, it was perfectly G rated."  
"Good," Rachel said, satisfied. "And forget anything I said, in case it had anything to do with love, romance, or any of that junk."  
"Don't worry, it didn't," Oliver lied, crossing his fingers behind his back.  
"Let's go to Fortescue's," Rachel suggested. "I'm dying for a vanilla ice cream cone."  
"Okay," Oliver agreed. They reached the ice cream parlor within a few minutes, and Mr. Fortescue quickly whipped up their orders.   
They found a table outside, and Oliver unfolded that day's issue of the Daily Prophet that someone had left there. He immediately flipped to the Sports section. A headline in bold black letters jumped out at him.  
FEMALE PUDDLEMERE UNITED FANS CALL TEAM SEXIST.  
"Uh oh," Oliver muttered under his breath before proceeding to read the article.  
  
'Female fans of the popular Quidditch team Puddlemere United have been complaining about the fact that every team member is male.  
"I know they think of it as some sort of tradition," Sarah Austin, 29, says. "But some should be changed. It's hopelessly old fashioned."  
Another female fan, Tessa Gordon, (36), says, "Puddlemere is an excellent team, but there are some amazingly talented female Quidditch players out there these days, and they deserve to have a chance as well."  
Some other female fans of the team haven't been as civil. Sherry Addams, 25, says, "They're narrow-minded gits with fluff for brains, and if they're going to keep being sexist imbeciles, then I'm finding myself a new team to support."  
The outbreak of rants came to be when a rumor circulated that the Puddlemere United Keeper is about to retire. According to an inside source, a young woman tried out for the part of the Keeper along with two men. The Daily Prophet couldn't find out about who the woman was, but can easily say that she has many supporters.   
If Puddlemere United wants to keep its female fans, there will most likely be a female Keeper very shortly.'  
  
"Damn!" Oliver swore under his breath. He'd never get it now...there was no way.   
"What?" Rachel asked curiously, leaning over his shoulder to get a glimpse of the article.  
"Nothing," Oliver said quickly, folding up the paper again. He couldn't let her see it...he couldn't stand to be stuck with her while she gloated all day.  
Too late.  
He looked over at her, and her expression was smug and full of amusement.  
"So," she said with an unbearably satisfied smile.  
Oliver was silent as he studied his ice cream, which was beginning to melt under the bright morning sun.  
"So," Rachel repeated, then laughed. "It looks like you can't be so sure about getting this position after all."  
"It's not a sure thing that you'll get it," Oliver said weakly.  
Rachel laughed again, and Oliver balled his hands into fists, mentally repeating over and over, It's not good to hit girls. It's not good to hit girls.  
"Puh-leeze," she dragged the word into two syllables. "Puddlemere United isn't going to risk losing fans. I've got it in the bag."  
Oliver tried to think up some sort of retort, but after about two seconds of serious denial, he realized that it was true.  
He'd never get the position now.  
  
~*~  
  
"Really, Oli, stop moping," Rachel said in an infuriatingly happy tone as they walked down Diagon Alley later that day. "There'll be other Quidditch positions, I'm sure. And being a reserve must be so fulfilling. And-"  
"Rachel, just shut up," Oliver cut in angrily. "You can stop rubbing it in my face."  
"Aw, must I?" Rachel asked sweetly. "It's so much fun."  
Oliver didn't bother to reply. Instead, he groaned in frustration and parted from her, entering Quality Quidditch Supplies.  
"Good afternoon, welcome to Quality Quidditch Supplies!" a way-too-perky witch that looked about his age greeted him.  
"Hi," Oliver muttered under his breath. The witch looked a bit crestfallen that he didn't return her frighteningly enthusiastic attitude.  
"If I can help you with anything, just let me know!"   
"Okay," Oliver mumbled, studying the Firebolt display in the window.  
"Would you like me to show you some of our sale items?"  
"No."  
"Oh. Well, thank you for taking your time to shop at-"  
"LADY!" Oliver shouted. She winced, then stared at him in shock. "I AM NOT IN THE MOOD! GO BUG SOMEONE ELSE!"  
The witch, however, wasn't going to be stopped that easily.  
"Are you sure, sir?" she asked, tone still ridiculously perky. "To the left we have an amazing sale on Quaffles, twenty percent off-"  
"I'm SURE!"   
"Are you SURE you're sure?" the witch asked, raising an eyebrow at him and smiling at the same time. It looked disturbing, to say the least.  
"I'm SURE I'm SURE!" Oliver confirmed angrily.  
"Are you SURE you're SURE you're sure?"  
"YES, I'm SURE I'm SURE I'm SURE!"  
"Are you SURE you're SURE you're SURE you're SURE?"  
"YES, I'm SURE I'm SURE I'm SURE I'm SURE!"  
"Are you SURE you're SURE you're SURE you're-"  
"YOU WANNA KNOW WHAT I'M SURE OF?" Oliver yelled.  
"Sure!" the lady said, beaming.  
"I'M SURE THAT I'M GOING TO GO COMPLETELY INSANE AND CHUCK THOSE TWENTY PERCENT OFF QUAFFLES AT YOUR FACE IF YOU SAY 'ARE YOU SURE?' AGAIN!"   
The lady was still undaunted as she asked, "Well, I'm SURE you'd like to look at Snitches then! They're THIRTY percent off."  
  
~*~  
  
"Where have you been all day?" Callen asked when Oliver entered the house.  
"Nowhere," Oliver replied angrily as he stormed up to his room. He narrowly avoided tripping over Callen's kneazle, who yowled, insulted.  
"Oh, toughen up," he muttered before entering his room and slamming the door. Rachel's note still sat on his bed in her loopy, girlie handwriting. After staring at it for a few seconds, he took it in his hands and ripped it into tiny shreds, then threw it into his wastebasket.  
"Screw her," he muttered to himself.  
As if the world wasn't treating him badly enough, at that moment an owl flew up to his window and tapped on it with its beak.  
"Great," Oliver mumbled. "The letter that makes it all official."  
Reluctantly, he walked over to the window and easily slid it open. The owl flew in and stuck out its left foot. Oliver removed the letter glumly, and the owl flew back out the open window.  
"Like I really need to read this to know what it's about," he muttered, then slit open the envelope and unfolded the letter. Sure enough, right there in black and white, the letter read:  
  
'Dear Mr. Wood,  
While you showed great talent on the Quidditch field, we regret to inform you that the position was given to Ms. Rachel Knight. However, we're sure you'll have a great future in professional Quidditch, and your time will surely come.  
Sincerely,  
Puddlemere United'  
  
Oliver felt hot tears well up in his eyes, but quickly blinked them back. He didn't cry-it was just pathetic.   
"Oh well," Oliver muttered to himself, his voice shaking. "There'll be other positions. This one wasn't that important anyway." He paused, his words echoing in his head. "Oh, stop lying to yourself, you idiot. This was your chance and you lost it thanks to that stupid witch. It's-"  
His conversation with himself was cut short when someone knocked softly on his door.  
"Oli?" Callen asked softly. "Can I come in?"  
"Sure," Oliver said miserably. His sister entered, obviously nervous-she was chewing on the end of her glasses, a sure sign that she was feeling a bit anxious.  
"Hey," she said, sitting down on his bed. "What's that?"  
Oliver handed the letter to her wordlessly, and she put on her glasses, then skimmed the letter. When she looked up again, her eyes were full of sympathy.  
"Oh, Oliver," she whispered, standing up and wrapping her arms around him. "I'm sorry."  
"It doesn't matter," Oliver said softly. "I knew it was too good to be true."  
  
  
A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out...Rachel (the real one) was about to rip my throat out. *shudder* Her Oliver obsession is just CREEPY. :) Okey dokey, Rach, I'll stop insulting you now. Not that I'm insulting you...obsessions are a good thing. All righty, I'll stop rambling now. Thanks for reading, all you fabulous people, and now you know what you have to do. NO, NOT press the back button! REVIEW. I'm *SURE* you'd love to. Thaaaaaaaank you :D 


	5. Chapter Five

A/N: I know, I know, it's been forever and then some. *sigh* A million apologies to all you absolutely marvelous reviewers out there :) I love you guys. Just to apologize in advance, I'm SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY for my lack of actual Quidditch playing writing skills. I am not a sporty girl...Quidditch is my favorite sport actually, and it's nonexistent, so what does that tell ya? ;)   
  
All righty, on with the fifth chapter of For the Love of Quidditch! *Whee :)*  
  
*Chapter Five*  
  
"What are you looking at?" Rachel snapped at the bartender as she stepped back into the Leaky Cauldron that evening. He just chuckled at her in reply, the only sound she'd ever heard him make.  
It was getting pretty infuriating.  
Rolling her eyes, Rachel stomped up the rickety staircase and unlocked the door to her hotel room. Groaning, she collapsed onto the bed and covered her head with a pillow. Only a few hours earlier, she'd been ecstatic-that article in the paper had pretty much confirmed that she was getting the Keeper position, and she hadn't even had to wait two days!  
But then Oliver had been so quiet and discouraged, and after a while he'd just stomped off and deserted her, pouting. For a while, she hadn't been bugged by it-it was to be expected, after all. The boy had wanted to play professional Quidditch his entire life.   
But then the mental image of him reading that article and his face just falling began to haunt her.  
"GO AWAY!" she exclaimed at the picture of Oliver that refused to leave her mind. Filled with anger, she lifted the pillow from off of her head and threw it across the room, then began to straighten her hair.   
A knock on the door interrupted her little grooming session, and she groaned and rose from the bed, then went over and swung it open. The bartender was standing there, holding an envelope in his hand.  
"You have an owl," he said, handing it to her and giving her a toothless grin.  
"Thanks," Rachel muttered, studying the envelope for a moment and then closing the door again. She slit it open with a neatly filed fingernail, then pulled the letter out and unfolded it. It read:  
  
'Dear Ms. Knight,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have gotten the Keeper position on the Puddlemere United Quidditch team. Please come to the Puddlemere United Quidditch field tomorrow at 9:30 to accept the position.  
Thank you,  
Puddlemere United'  
  
Rachel felt her heart drop...it was definitely official now.  
"Wait!" she exclaimed to herself. "What are you doing? This is a GOOD thing...you WANTED this position. Now stop feeling bad just because Oliver might be shedding a tear back at home. It's not your problem."  
  
~*~  
  
"Oliver, PLEASE come out of there!" Oliver could hear Callen begging from the other side of his bedroom door the next morning.  
He just groaned and shifted in bed, pulling his blankets up farther over his head.  
"Oli, PLEASE?" Callen begged. "It's time for breakfast..."  
"I'm not hungry," he managed to mumble, his voice hoarse.  
"But breakfast is the most important meal of the day!" Callen protested.  
"Cal, no," Oliver said in a 'this-means-final' tone. He heard her sigh, then turn and walk away. Soon her footsteps faded off.  
He needed that position.  
Needed it.  
And now Rachel had gotten it, and she didn't even want it that much! Oliver could tell she was better cut out to be some famous singing sensation or something along the lines of that...it was just in the way she walked.  
She wasn't the Quidditch player type.  
"Stop making excuses," Oliver muttered to himself. "It's not yours and it won't be yours, get it through your thick skull."  
Groaning, he thought back on the previous day-was that really how long it had been since he'd met Rachel? A day? It seemed like a lifetime.  
And then some.  
  
~*~  
  
"Ahhh, Ms. Knight," Bryan Schafer gave Rachel a warm smile and offered his hand. Rachel shook it, then straightened her miniskirt under her before sitting down across from the Puddlemere United captain.  
"Hello," Rachel flashed him a charming smile. "You have no idea how thrilled I was when I found out that I got the position."  
Or how crushed Oliver was, she added silently.  
"Well, we're thrilled to have you on the team," Schafer replied, returning her smile. "You're a very talented woman."  
Talk to the face, not the breasts, buddy, Rachel thought dryly, wishing that she'd buttoned up her blouse a bit further.  
"Thanks," she murmured.  
"Yes, well, I have to admit, there was quite a bit of difficulty in making our decision, but in the end we decided you would benefit the team better."  
Yeah, Rachel thought sarcastically. With me there, there won't be any more articles in the Daily Prophet with comments from PMSing women's rights freaks.  
"Out of curiosity, why'd you pick me over Mr. Wood?" Rachel asked with an innocent smile. "Personally, I was POSITIVE he was going to get it."  
"Well..." Schafer looked a bit nervous, and Rachel smiled inwardly. Let 'im squirm. "You were...."  
"Because I DID practically let one of the Quaffles go through the goal posts," Rachel continued, nonchalantly twirling a lock of hair around her index finger. "And Mr. Wood didn't even come close to making a mistake."  
"Well....er...." Schafer stuttered. Rachel looked at him expectantly. "Um...you're just better."  
"Oh?"  
"Uh...yeah."  
"Well, that clears everything up!" Rachel exclaimed perkily, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. "Thank you so much!"  
Schafer looked immensely relieved.   
"All right, then," he said. "There's a team practice tomorrow afternoon at one thirty to go over strategies. I'll see you there?"  
Rachel nodded, trying to push the image of a crestfallen Oliver out of her mind. "Super."  
  
~*~  
  
ONE MONTH LATER  
~*~  
  
"Wood, buddy!"   
Oliver forced himself to smile as he looked up to see one of his fellow reserves, James Ellingson, waving to him with his ever-present grin.  
"Hi," Oliver greeted him.   
"Where've you been, pal?" asked James as he clapped him on the back. "I haven't seen you in at least a month...Evan's been pretty pissed that you missed the last four practices."  
"I haven't been feeling well," Oliver said truthfully.   
Actually, he'd been feeling downright suicidal.  
"Well, it's a good thing you're back," James grinned. "Heard some chick got picked over you for the Keeper position. How's that feel, to get beaten by a girl?"  
"Oh, it's just great," Oliver said sarcastically. James sure knew how to be sympathetic.  
James laughed loudly. "That's pretty damn sad, Wood...I don't think I'd get out of bed, if I were you."  
"Thanks, James," Oliver replied dryly. "Your support means so much to me."  
"Any time, buddy," James said with a grin. "Any time."  
A few of the other reserves joined them as they walked across the field, all of them making taunts about how he'd lost the position to Rachel. By the time they reached the stands where Evan sat, Oliver had his hands clenched into such tight fists that he was sure his fingernails were drawing blood from his hands.  
"Wood!" Evan barked. "Where you been?"  
"Sick, sir," Oliver replied, hoping he sounded sincere.  
"Well, don't get sick again," Evan ordered. "We can't afford to lose our Keeper for another month."  
"Yes, sir," Oliver said.   
"Now, guys, get out on that field!" Evan instructed. "Let's start out with a quick drill and see if Oliver's still as good as he was last time he came to practice!"  
All of Oliver's teammates all rushed out to the field, broomstick in hand, he trailed slowly behind them. The last time he'd been here, he'd been so positive that he was going to get the Keeper position.  
But of course, Rachel had just HAD to show up and ruin everything.  
And be so damn infatuating while she was at it.  
"Wood," Evan said softly, his usually sharp voice sympathetic, "I'm sorry you lost the position...you're a hell of a Keeper, and those prats made a stupid mistake when they didn't choose you."  
"Rach...Ms. Knight was good, too," Oliver replied glumly. "They'll do just fine with her."  
"I saw her play," Evan replied with a shake of his head. "Last week, when the team was practicing on the field...she's a talented woman, sure, but she just doesn't have the love for the game that you have. You can feel it."  
Oliver shrugged. "True as that may be, it doesn't really matter now. I didn't get it."  
Evan gave him a half smile. "You never know."   
With that, sympathetic-Evan disappeared, giving way to I-am-your-leader-so-don't-mess-with-me Evan, who barked, "All right, guys, let's not take all day. I'd like to still have my real teeth when we're done! Wood, get up there!"  
Oliver mounted his broom and flew up into the air, hovering around the goal posts. Being up there seemed so dissatisfying...sure, he'd be doing the same thing if he HAD gotten the position, but then he'd be a real Quidditch player, not just some lowly reserve!  
A Quaffle hitting him right in the stomach brought Oliver out of his little self-pity fest.  
"Dammit!" he swore, gasping for breath.  
"Sorry, Wood!" Sam Thomson, one of the Chasers, called. "Didn't think you'd miss that one!"  
"Concentrate on the game, Wood!" Evan barked from the ground.   
"Sorry," Oliver forced the word out of his mouth as he tried not to keel over in pain from the hard hit of the Quaffle.   
"This is PATHETIC, Wood," he mumbled to himself. "You can't even protect a freaking goal post anymore...what's the matter with you?"  
But he knew what was the matter. Well, besides the obvious.  
Rachel.  
He couldn't get her out of his head...the signature smirk, the long shimmering hair, the tanned legs and flawless complexion.  
Girlfriends had never been Oliver's thing. At Hogwarts, he'd never even stopped to consider having one-after all, it would interfere with Quidditch practices. And then after, he'd went straight into Puddlemere United. If it hadn't been for that game of Truth or Dare in his fifth year, Oliver was pretty sure that he would have never even kissed a girl.  
Until Rachel.  
Oh, she'd had to come and mess up everything.   
He'd known her for less than forty-eight hours, and she'd succeeded in ruining his life.   
And taking over his mind, as well.  
"Wood, what IS this?!"   
Oliver shook himself out of his thoughts to see Evan staring up at him, eyes flashing in anger.   
"I'm sorry," Oliver said weakly. "I just..."  
"Clean up your act, Wood," Evan ordered. "Or I might just have to put someone else up there."  
Oliver knew Evan was probably just making empty threats, but his heart began to beat irregularly just the same. Lose the reserve position and his life was down the toilet.   
Period.  
Oliver succeeded in blocking the Quaffle the next few times it came his way, though sloppily, but then something happened that made him lose all concentration on practice entirely.  
The Puddlemere United team had just walked out onto the field.  
Rachel.  
Oliver couldn't help but stare in awe at her for a moment...her hair shone brilliantly in the glistening sun, and she was dressed in a pair of cut-off shorts and a light pink tanktop. Her face wore an expression of annoyance as one of the members of the team, who Oliver recognized as Beater Tim O'Reilley, talked to her with what he apparently thought was a winning smile on his face.  
Immediately, he felt anger begin to flow through him.  
No, stop, he instructed himself. You're being stupid...Rachel and you have nothing.  
As though in slow motion, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, causing it to shimmer so brightly that Oliver had to squint, and her eyes locked with his.  
The captain of Puddlemere yelled something to Evan, who yelled back in reply, "All right, we'll be off in a minute." Then, to the team of reserves, he said, "Guys, we're gonna have to cut practice short today-Puddlemere needs the field. So let's just come down for now."  
Rachel was still staring intently at Oliver as he came back down to the ground, then began to walk across the field. He looked down at the grass, begging his cheeks not to flush.  
James let out a low wolf whistle.  
"I can see why they let HER on the team," he muttered to the team members. "Schafer was probably hoping he'd get more than just a Keeper."  
"Shut up."  
The words flew out of Oliver's mouth before he even realized it, and within seconds everyone's eyes were on him.  
"What?" James asked. "You know this chick, Wood?"  
Oliver didn't reply. Instead, he just kept walking.  
"Hey, baby," James said to Rachel as the two teams passed. "Busy Friday night?"  
"Bite me," Rachel responded dryly.  
"Oooh, girl with an attitude."   
Oliver looked up to see James grinning flirtatiously.  
"I don't mind a difficult woman."  
"Shut up, James," Oliver said loudly.   
"Aww, sticking up for the lady, Wood?" James asked with a teasing grin.  
"You, actually," Oliver replied dryly. "You don't want to get her mad."  
Rachel gave him a half smile and said, "How you doing, Oli?"  
"Oli?" James asked cockily. "You two must be pretty close."  
"I'm fine," Oliver replied, glaring at James. "You?"  
"Same," Rachel said.   
After a moment of awkward silence, Oliver said, "Well...see you."  
"See you," Rachel echoed.  
"Oooh, Wood!" James exclaimed after they'd left. "How did a loser like you get a woman like that?"  
"Get a life, James," Oliver replied. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he spoke, Oliver apparated back home, leaving James and his oh-so-witty comments behind.  
  
~*~  
  
Men are jackasses, Rachel decided as she flew a few laps around the Quidditch field. They were all the same...well, actually, there were two types. Type A lost the ability of coherent speech and ogled at her. Type B made ridiculous comments in hopes to impress her.  
"Why did I accept this position?" she asked herself with a groan as she landed onto the soft grass. She wasn't enjoying it half as much as she'd been sure she would...being surrounded by pigheaded men just ruined it.  
"Hey, Rachel."  
Groaning, she turned around to see Schafer approaching her, a grin on his face. She didn't like this man...he seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes in their sockets.  
"Hi," she replied with forced cheerfulness.  
"Enjoying being on the team?" he asked, standing uncomfortably close to her. Rachel backed up a few steps before replying.  
"It's all right."  
"Just all right?" Schafer asked, taking a few steps forward.  
Rachel took a few more steps backwards.  
"I'm not enjoying it as much as I thought I would," she confessed.  
"Oh?" Schafer stepped forward again. "Why is that?"  
Perhaps because you don't understand the concept of BREATHING ROOM, she thought angrily.  
"It's just...I feel like Oliver Wood should have gotten it."  
Two steps back.  
"You're much better," Schafer assured her.  
Two steps forward.  
"Oh, no, I don't think so..."  
Two steps back.  
"I'm not sure..."  
Two steps forward.  
"You deserve this position, Rachel. Why else would we have picked you?"  
Two steps back.  
"Oh, I don't know," she replied nonchalantly. "Could it have anything to do with a certain article in the Daily Prophet?"  
"Oh," Schafer laughed nervously.  
Two steps forward.  
"You saw that, I see," he finished.  
"Yes, I did."  
"Well..." he stuttered, "That...was a bit of why we chose you, but really-"  
"Oh really?" Rachel asked. "Just a bit? What was the rest? The fact that I wear skimpy tops and look great in a miniskirt?"  
"True as that may be, Miss Knight-"  
Rachel took two steps so huge they practically classified as leaps backwards, then said, "You know, I don't think I deserved this position. And since I don't enjoy it in the least, there's no reason to stay with you."  
"You're not quitting?"  
"Actually, Mr. Schafer," Rachel said with an overly-sweet smile, "That's exactly what I'm doing. It's been swell, but all good things have to come to an end sometime."  
"But..." Shafer stammered. "B..but..."  
She gave him a little wave.  
"Buh bye!" 


	6. Chapter Six

A/N: *sigh* And here it is, my friends :) The sixth and final chapter of For the Love of Quidditch...this is the first chapter fic I've actually completed! *dances around* Anyway, thank you all for the reviews. You guys are absolutely AWESOME :) Tragically, poor Oliver has been replaced in the heart of Rachel (the real one, my friend-BTW, she isn't at all like the Rachel in the story, so don't worry :) I've received a few reviews implying that they hoped she wasn't really like that *hehehe*) by Legolas the elf in Lord of the Rings. *sigh* Poor Oli.  
  
All righty, I'll quit rambling...here it is, the final installment :) It's very short, I know, but live with it ;)  
  
Once again, all you reader/reviewer peoples, YOU ARE THE BEST! Say it to yourself a few times. And then review again :) I love you guys!  
  
~*~  
  
  
Chapter Six  
  
Surprisingly, when Oliver awoke the next morning, he felt somewhat...happy. Over the past month, the emotion had seemed to disappear from his life, but he actually smiled when Athena purred a good morning to him.  
"Good morning to you too, Miss A," he grinned, practically hopping out of bed. He had absolutely no idea what had brought on this change of attitude...for some reason, he just had the feeling that something good was going to happen that day.  
That 'something good' revealed itself at breakfast. He and Callen were sitting down to bowls of cornflakes and orange juice when an owl flew in through the open kitchen window.  
"Oli, would you get that?" Callen, who was busy stuffing her face with cereal, asked.  
"Sure," Oliver replied, rising from the table and going over to the owl, then detaching the envelope from its foot. To his surprise, it read his name across the front.  
"I wonder what this is," he muttered, slitting open the envelope as the owl flew back out the window. He unfolded the letter, then let out a strangled sort of cry as he scanned the words.  
  
'Dear Mr. Wood,  
We at Puddlemere United realize now that we made a huge mistake when choosing a Keeper for our vacant position. Ms. Knight, who originally got the position, pointed out that you were much more talented at try-outs before resigning. We'd be incredibly grateful if you'd meet with us tomorrow morning to accept or decline the position. Would breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron at 9:30 be convenient for you?  
I await your owl.  
Bryan Schafer  
Puddlemere United Captain'  
  
"Cal...oh my God!" Oliver exclaimed, letting the letter fall to the floor and running over to his sister. He threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly, pulling away only when she said, "Oli, honey, I'm having some trouble BREATHING, so if you don't mind..."  
"I got it, Cal, I got it!" Oliver shouted happily.  
"What?" Callen asked.  
"The Keeper position...Rachel resigned, and it's MINE!"  
"Aaaah!" Callen shrieked in delight, throwing her arms around him. "Oooh, they probably kicked her right out when they realized how much better you were! Oli, you know you deserved it!"  
"Well," Oliver said, eyeing the letter on the ground, "It said she resigned."  
"Resigned?" Callen asked lightly. "Well, she probably just realized what a bitch she was being and that the position OBVIOUSLY belonged to you."  
"I guess," Oliver shrugged. "But she REALLY wanted that position."  
"Oli, who knows what she wanted?" Callen asked. "You knew her for forty-eight hours, and Rachel changes her mind a LOT."  
Oliver nodded weakly. "Yeah, I suppose..."  
He stared down at the letter once more, filled with confusion. For so long, he'd wanted this position more than anything, and he still did...  
But why did Rachel give it up?  
He had the feeling he needed some answers from her before accepting it.  
And that meant finding her today.  
  
~*~  
  
"The French are glad to die for love," Rachel sang to herself as she placed a pink blouse into her suitcase. "They delight in fighting duels...but I prefer a man who lives and gives expensive jewels."  
Marilyn Monroe knew what she was talking about, Rachel decided. Men were idiots. But rich ones COULD get you some nice jewelry.  
"Diamonds are a girl's best friend," she proclaimed to the empty room, enjoying the feeling she got every time she was really belting out a song.  
As Rachel put her final article of clothing, a pair of black jeans, into her suitcase and closed it, she sighed. Where she was going was a mystery to her, but she was sure she'd figure it out sometime. Maybe Paris to visit some of her Beauxbatons friends...her French had been getting a bit rusty, and it wouldn't hurt to brush up on it.   
Or America, for no particular reason at all. She'd just like to get away from here.   
And what her parents would say when they found out she'd given up the position. When she'd first gotten it, she'd owled them and told them so, and the day before she'd sent them another announcing that she'd resigned. Her father would be furious, no doubt about it-ever since he'd discovered that at age five Rachel could fly without falling off the broom, he'd been convinced his little girl would be a star Quidditch player.  
He'd laughed when she'd told him she wanted to sing.   
Rachel could still remember it perfectly...she'd been nine years old, clad in her mother's way-too-big dress robes and sporting bright red lipstick she'd found in her mum's drawer in the bathroom. Mrs. Knight had thought it adorable when Rachel danced around the house, singing Celestina Warbeck into a hairbrush.   
But then, when she'd told her father...  
'A singer? Why would you want to do something like that? You couldn't make it, Rachey...hardly anyone makes it in that business, and while you're talented, I'm not sure you're talented enough. Stick to something you're really good at, honey...like Quidditch!'  
She'd always sort of hated him since.   
It was stupid of her, and she knew it...her father hadn't been trying to be mean. He was just being his usual insensitive self.  
"Square-cut or pear-shaped these rocks don't lose their shape," Rachel sang absently under her breath as she ran a brush through her hair. "Diamonds are a girl's-"  
A knock on the door interrupted her.  
"Miss Knight?"  
"What is it?" Rachel called back, tossing the brush onto the bed and walking over to answer the door. When she swung it open, Tom was revealed, and someone was standing behind him...  
Oliver.  
"This young man came to see you," Tom said, giving her a wink before turning around and disappearing from sight.  
"Uh...hey," Oliver greeted her lamely.  
"Hi," Rachel replied, giving him a smile and ignoring the way her heart began to race. "Why're you here?"  
"I need to talk to you," Oliver said seriously.  
"Shoot," Rachel said.  
However, he remained silent, and his eyes fell upon the suitcase on her bed.  
"You're leaving?" Oliver asked.  
"Yeah," Rachel replied. "Much as I'd love to live in a dingy old hotel room for the rest of my life, I think it's time to move on."  
Oliver laughed and nodded. "Yeah, I guess...well..."  
He fell silent again.  
"Oli, I don't have all day," Rachel announced. "So can you just say what you wanna say and get it over with?"  
"I was just wondering," Oliver replied, "Why you gave up the position...you seemed like you wanted it a lot."  
Rachel shrugged. "It wasn't as great as I thought it would be. The guys were all jackasses and the manager kept ogling me."  
"It's difficult not to," Oliver said teasingly.  
"Oh, yes, I know," Rachel said airily, "I'm such the ravishing beauty."  
Oliver nodded. "Completely and totally."   
The joking air disappeared from his tone, and he asked slowly, "So you really don't mind giving me the position?"  
Rachel shook her head.  
"Nope," she said sincerely. "I'd rather sing or something...my parents would love that."  
Oliver gave her a half smile. "Well, if you're sure..."  
"I'm positive," Rachel said with a smile. "Now, much as I'd love to stick around and chat, I've gotta figure out where I'm going."  
Oliver was quiet for a moment before replying. "You don't have to go, you know...you could come stay with me and Cal again."  
"Oh, yeah, I'm sure Cal would love that," said Rachel sarcastically. "We're just on the best terms right now."  
"She wouldn't mind," Oliver assured her. "It's just...do you really have to leave?"  
"Why?" Rachel asked with a somewhat flirty smile. "Would you miss me?"  
"Sort of," Oliver replied.  
"What?" Rachel gasped. "Only sort of?"  
"Well," Oliver said, "I'd miss what I know...but we don't really know one another that well. And I'd like you to stay so we could get to know each other."  
Rachel felt herself wavering...maybe she COULD stay for just a while.  
"You think you're so charming, don't you?" asked Rachel, grinning.  
"That wasn't really what I was going for," replied Oliver, returning her smile. "But now that I think about it, of course I am."  
"And oh so modest," Rachel added.  
"Yup, modest," Oliver agreed. "Another one of my many great characteristics."  
Rachel rolled her eyes at him.  
"So, whaddya say?" Oliver asked. "Will you stay?"  
Like I'd say no, Rachel thought to herself. But she decided it would be kinda fun to torture him for a while...  
"Maybe," Rachel said. "Depends."  
"On what?"  
Rachel took a few steps closer. "On whether you'll take me downstairs and buy me another one of those lethal green drink thingies."  
Oliver shook his head vigorously. "Nuh uh. No way. I am NOT letting you get completely trashed again."  
Rachel smiled. "Good, 'cause I wouldn't have ever forgiven you if you did."  
"Well, then, Miss Knight," Oliver said coyly, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Have I passed your little test?"  
Rachel shook her head. "Nope, not yet. First you have to do two things."  
"Name it."  
"Okay, you must A, take me down to Fortescue's and buy me some ice cream."  
"Will do," Oliver smiled.  
"And B, you have to kiss me."  
Oliver's smile turned into a full-out grin.   
"With pleasure."  
He pressed his lips to hers, and Rachel allowed herself to enjoy the ridiculously giddy, almost dizzying sensation. After a few moments, they pulled apart and a lazy smile formed on Rachel's face and she opened her lips to speak.  
"And they lived happily ever after."  
Oliver grinned, then added, "The end." 


End file.
